Page 2 of Firefly Nights

"Know about them? I wanted to be one when I grew up." Nathan crouches down to his level, completely at ease. "Turns out contractor was the next best thing. "

Within minutes, he's surrounded by the entire story time group, perched on the carpet as he helps them find books while keeping up a steady stream of dinosaur facts and terrible prehistoric puns.

"Hey, hey, who has a dinosaur joke?" he asks, passing a book to Charlie.

"Me!" Sophie bounces on her knees. "Why did the dinosaur cross the road?"

"To get to the other side!" several kids chorus.

"Better than mine," Nathan laughs. "Want to hear why you can't hear a pterodactyl going to the bathroom?" He pauses dramatically. "Because the 'p' is silent!"

The kids dissolve into giggles, and even I have to bite back a smile. The children are captivated. Even Mrs. Reynolds, our most particular patron, smiles as she passes with her weekly romance novel selection.

I turn back to my shelving, trying to ignore the warm feeling in my chest. So he's good with kids. And knows about dinosaurs. And looks unfairly attractive while sitting cross-legged on a rainbow reading carpet. It doesn't change anything.

"Hey, Book Whisperer." His voice startles me out of my thoughts. The kids have dispersed with their dinosaur books, and Nathan's leaning against the nearby shelf. "You've been organizing the same set of books for twenty minutes. Must be a fascinating system."

Heat creeps up my neck. "I was thinking."

"About your books?" His tone is gently teasing. "Or let me guess—mentally redesigning the Dewey Decimal System?"

"Not everyone considers that boring," I say stiffly, slidingThe Mysterious Benedict Societyinto place with more force than necessary.

"Never said boring." He steps closer, reaching past me to straighten a book I missed. His arm brushes mine, and I nearly drop the entire stack I'm holding. "Just wondering what stories you get lost in up there."

"I don't get lost." But even I can hear the defensive note in my voice. "I simply appreciate the value of a well-ordered library and?—"

"And you're doing it again." He taps the spine of the book in my hands. "Living so much in these worlds that you're missing the one right in front of you."

"That's not—" I stop, flustered by his proximity and the hint of concern beneath his teasing. "Don't you have a ceiling to fix?"

"Worried I'll figure you out?" His smile is softer now, almost wistful. "Too late, Grace. You're not nearly as mysterious as you think you are."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know you whisper to your books when you think no one's watching." He starts ticking off points on his fingers. "I know you organize the children's section by reading levelandtheme because you want kids to find exactly the right story when they need it. I know you keep a secret stash of chocolate in the bottom drawer of your desk for emergency reshelving fuel. And I know you're terrified of letting anyone past those carefully organized walls you've built."

I stare at him, heart pounding. "How did you?—"

"I pay attention." He shrugs, but his eyes never leave mine. "Maybe if you looked up from your books more often, you'd notice people."

Before I can respond, a crash echoes from the front desk, followed by a small voice saying, "Oops."

Nathan grins. "Duty calls, Book Whisperer. Try not to get lost in any fictional worlds while I'm gone." He heads toward the commotion, calling out, "Everyone okay over there? You know, this reminds me of the time a stegosaurus tried to check out a library book..."

Chapter Two

Nathan

The library's third step from the top creaks when you put weight on the left side. The window in the reference section sticks unless you lift and slide at the exact same time. The radiator in the corner makes a sound like a sleeping cat when it kicks on. And Grace Lawson talks to her books when she thinks no one's listening.

"I know, I know," she whispers to a worn copy of something thick and literary-looking. "You belong in Classical Literature, not Contemporary Fiction. Let's get you home."

I hide my smile behind the clipboard I'm pretending to study. I should be focused on the roof assessment—plotting beam replacements, calculating material costs, wondering why nobody noticed the water damage before it got this bad. Instead, I'm watching the town librarian have a conversation with a book like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe for her, it is.

"Need a minute alone with your friend there?" I call down from my perch on the stepladder. "I can come back when you're done with storytime."

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